


You don’t wanna be stuck up on that stage singing

by angelica_barnes



Series: It’s a Long Way Down [2]
Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik - Musician
Genre: Anxiety, Character Study, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Other, Paranoia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 00:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15352080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelica_barnes/pseuds/angelica_barnes
Summary: zayn hates it onstage.(some people long for sun. they swim in it.zayn drowns in it, is drenched in golden spots.he cannot breathe.)





	You don’t wanna be stuck up on that stage singing

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from "I Took A Pill In Ibiza" by Mike Posner

Sometimes the walls close in on him in his dressing room, mirrors that taunt him with the true depiction of his unshaven face with shaggy hair, an undone man. He falls into himself, folds and unfolds in a pattern, and those who notice are lucky and not.

The curtains open, and his breath is taken away.

 

 

-

 

He sings to the moon really, more than any living person, because it’s easier. And he’s had enough to go through, hard and hard and time and time again, and sometimes he catches sight of someone’s true feelings and he’s suddenly blank in mind, forgetting even what lyrics are.

His head hurts.

 

 

-

 

The stage lights are blinding, piercing his eyes with daggers, and they’re all as sharp as a jaguar’s teeth and claws as they sink into its dinner, and he feels tears collect in pools and rain upwards onto his eyelashes. He closes them, his tired paining eyes, but finds that the dark is worse than light.

To see is to know, he believes, and he doesn’t want to know.

 

 

-

 

He can hear screaming, and suddenly he’s nervous to no end, leaving him jittery and jumping at everything. There are bangs and crashes and pops and people’s voices, so many voices, and he can practically feel his will slipping through his fingers and away.

He tries to hold on tight though, despite his energy, which is dying like a phone’s battery - all too quickly.

 

 

-

 

He’s ready to die, he thinks, just so long as he doesn’t have to feel so out of place. The insults grow louder and the praise is silenced, snuffed out by an invisible water hose, and he thinks he might just faint as the blood rushes to his head, but he grunts and climbs a little higher up.

At least this way, technically, he’s taller than them.

 

 

-

 

He spins in a circle, taking in his surroundings, and he grabs two familiar hands he can’t quite place the persons of, and then he bows low and deep so as to calm himself, but his head only hurts more. He wants it to be done, is it done yet?

The curtains close, and he can breathe again.


End file.
